The developed and developing countries allot funds in millions on scientific discoveries for nonsense and we do have these educated idiots like Aki Sinkkonen from the university of Helsinki conducting research on health who thinks his brain is unmatched. Does it make any prudence in a belly button signaling a woman’s dynamism? It’s sheer garbage, but not so for the university and Sinkkonen. Why blame the current world when we have the Old Testament. Songs of Solomon- Solomon’s lavish praise for his love on the country girl Sulaimi (verse 7.2).
"thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor".
The umbilical code supplies nutrition and oxygen from the mother which is later clammed and snipped but not anymore the scientist sees the navel as a mating potential of a fertile woman. He proposes that umbilicus, together with the surrounding skin area, is an honest signal of individual vigor and the symmetry, shape, and position of umbilicus can be used to estimate the reproductive potential including risks of certain genetically and maternally inherited fetal anomalies. Sinkkonen found we prefer belly buttons that are t-shaped or oval and vertical, with a little hooding, and which don't protrude.
Whose is the “we” he is referring to? Are we privileged to check on a woman’s navel before the so called arranged marriage? (Love marriages are excused). Well, maybe we could ask our mom’s to check on the navel designing or the architectural abnormalities of the girl's navel before being a possible bride. Beware Ladies, no more of those traditional saris or salwars, you should be welcoming the party wearing a cropped top that would reveal your midriff and navel or else be courageous to pull up your dress to reveal your navel for an evaluation followed by a verdict. Do maintain patience as patience is virtue, the verdict will be declared only after a discussion between the panel of judges which might include the groom and his parties. The difference in opinion among the panel about the evenness, shape, size and not forgetting little hood would be time consuming. The verdict ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’ purely will be based on the engineering of your navel.
LOL!! Shaadi.com, Jeevansathi.com, Bharatmatrimony.com and all renowned Marriage Bureau’s around the world. Recession, cut backs and lay off’s have no sympathy over you pals, get ready and upgrade your software. Bless the IT pass out’s and give them a job opportunity to redesign your web site with an additional page ‘navel’ as part of the profile information with drop down option reflecting the possible:
Position: (mid, lower or upper belly, centered, tilted, angled etc)
Size: (berry, cherry, plum, apricot, jackfruit etc)
Shape: (have all the known scripts in the world e.g. English, Chinese, Arabic, etc.) Malayalam scripted would be something worth and unique, imagine a navel shaped like the first alphabet in Malayalam.
Hood: (have the name of all the snake species e.g. King Cobra, Viper, Mamba, Anaconda etc)
Bingo to the notorious self employed marriage brokers. You all will have the privileged to carry a photo of the belly button as well. A little privacy can be maintained with the invention of digital cameras provided you can afford one or else the old photo studios will return to lime light.
IT professionals unite and assure the marriage bureaus that you would develop the best webpage and don’t forget to get paid for this tough assignment.
The world should stand up and salute the great Aki Sinkkonen for his research and should be left alone to copulate with the hooded, King Cobras.
Long Live Aki Sinkkonen
And to all the rich countries... Please continue to fund for such stupendous medical research.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Veiled Maniac in a Man
This write up is not meant to offend any living soul. I write to express my views and request the readers to consider the below content as void if affronted.
The Talmud, a central text of Judaism says that Adam was a sex fanatic and Eve ran away from his sexual advances for 130 years, during the missing years of Eve, Adams ejaculation formed the ghouls and demons. Just can’t visualize the enormous number of mischievous spirit that would have been around if ejaculations were not flushed down the toilets. After all men do carry the gene of Adam and not astounded as to why women keep sprinting away from the offspring’s of Adam. Explicitly named in Genesis are three of Adam’s children; Cain, Abel and Seth. The book of Jubilees or the Leptogenesis does states that Eve did labor another eleven, nine sons and two daughters; the question here is why Adam was not given the required projection as the beget.
Having a mistress is not considered a sin as it reflects Lilith as the second lady of Adam who never washed out his ejaculations and labored all the demons on earth, was it a deliberate practice to balance the world with good and evil? Lilith appears as the night demon associated with wind and thought to be the bearer of disease, illness and death in the King James Version of the bible though Lilith was named as Adam’s first wife but there are confusions and debates on this topic as to where our beautiful Eve vanished!!! Who knows our known first lady must have been on a rampage to increase population all through the missing years, can be justified as ‘yet another act for a balanced world’. But men the progeny of God’s first known son is framed as Maniac’s. The show up here is whose genetic material do men carry, Eve’s or Lilith’s?
Can a man be christened a virgin? Well if so, then how can it be proved? May be we could check for stretch marks on his abdomen which will prove that he has fathered a probable child. Virginity is referred to a woman so, does this allow man to go berserk? Creation does have reasoning’s though explanation can be vicious. Let alone and live from all this unanswered theories. Hat’s off to all those men who strictly abide by the rules of nature and for those who claim to be a virgin gentleman. Praise the Lord for not having Lilith’s around or else they would have been by the bedside during the nocturnal emission (commonly known as wet dream) to labor yet another demons and technology would question the gentleman status through a feasible DNA test.
How many times have you heard of a man being raped by a woman, jingles like a joke right? Heard of a man being manhandled? Man can be manhandled by a woman with everlasting hickies and nail marks but never can be forced; if it happens then these gentlemen would passion to make all crucial modifications to be on cloud nine though planted hickies and nail marks would remain as “the battle scars from a female warrior”. When a man makes an advance, it is framed as sexual harassment but when it comes from a woman why do men structure it as ‘Getting Lucky’. Michael Crichton’s “Disclosure” does highlight the possibility of sexual harassment on a man but the fact is how many of these men who ordeal it would actually reveal the inducing act? Oops!! “Ordeal” doesn’t outfit a man though; some words don’t shape into a man’s dictionary of facts.
Leave alone Eve’s disappearance for 130 years and Lilith’s intention, we shall look at the other side of women who were born during the rampage era of Eve and Lilith. Allocate the vital breathing space and allow women to enjoy the nature of being. After all she’s the motherhood of mankind and a divinity of love who is sacred, and man shall give her the benefit of the doubt, for its only women who pace through the intricate phase of pregnancy. The words that optimistically prefix a woman is eternal, someone like Agnese Gonxhe Bojaxhiu known to the world as Mother Teresa, none will run short of words to describe her.
We Men belong to the indispensable category short of a rib and undeclared shall preserve the rank of a Maniac. Hail the man and the so called sons of God. Keep up the great zest and retain yourself as the undisputed king of terror and disgust.
The Talmud, a central text of Judaism says that Adam was a sex fanatic and Eve ran away from his sexual advances for 130 years, during the missing years of Eve, Adams ejaculation formed the ghouls and demons. Just can’t visualize the enormous number of mischievous spirit that would have been around if ejaculations were not flushed down the toilets. After all men do carry the gene of Adam and not astounded as to why women keep sprinting away from the offspring’s of Adam. Explicitly named in Genesis are three of Adam’s children; Cain, Abel and Seth. The book of Jubilees or the Leptogenesis does states that Eve did labor another eleven, nine sons and two daughters; the question here is why Adam was not given the required projection as the beget.
Having a mistress is not considered a sin as it reflects Lilith as the second lady of Adam who never washed out his ejaculations and labored all the demons on earth, was it a deliberate practice to balance the world with good and evil? Lilith appears as the night demon associated with wind and thought to be the bearer of disease, illness and death in the King James Version of the bible though Lilith was named as Adam’s first wife but there are confusions and debates on this topic as to where our beautiful Eve vanished!!! Who knows our known first lady must have been on a rampage to increase population all through the missing years, can be justified as ‘yet another act for a balanced world’. But men the progeny of God’s first known son is framed as Maniac’s. The show up here is whose genetic material do men carry, Eve’s or Lilith’s?
Can a man be christened a virgin? Well if so, then how can it be proved? May be we could check for stretch marks on his abdomen which will prove that he has fathered a probable child. Virginity is referred to a woman so, does this allow man to go berserk? Creation does have reasoning’s though explanation can be vicious. Let alone and live from all this unanswered theories. Hat’s off to all those men who strictly abide by the rules of nature and for those who claim to be a virgin gentleman. Praise the Lord for not having Lilith’s around or else they would have been by the bedside during the nocturnal emission (commonly known as wet dream) to labor yet another demons and technology would question the gentleman status through a feasible DNA test.
How many times have you heard of a man being raped by a woman, jingles like a joke right? Heard of a man being manhandled? Man can be manhandled by a woman with everlasting hickies and nail marks but never can be forced; if it happens then these gentlemen would passion to make all crucial modifications to be on cloud nine though planted hickies and nail marks would remain as “the battle scars from a female warrior”. When a man makes an advance, it is framed as sexual harassment but when it comes from a woman why do men structure it as ‘Getting Lucky’. Michael Crichton’s “Disclosure” does highlight the possibility of sexual harassment on a man but the fact is how many of these men who ordeal it would actually reveal the inducing act? Oops!! “Ordeal” doesn’t outfit a man though; some words don’t shape into a man’s dictionary of facts.
Leave alone Eve’s disappearance for 130 years and Lilith’s intention, we shall look at the other side of women who were born during the rampage era of Eve and Lilith. Allocate the vital breathing space and allow women to enjoy the nature of being. After all she’s the motherhood of mankind and a divinity of love who is sacred, and man shall give her the benefit of the doubt, for its only women who pace through the intricate phase of pregnancy. The words that optimistically prefix a woman is eternal, someone like Agnese Gonxhe Bojaxhiu known to the world as Mother Teresa, none will run short of words to describe her.
We Men belong to the indispensable category short of a rib and undeclared shall preserve the rank of a Maniac. Hail the man and the so called sons of God. Keep up the great zest and retain yourself as the undisputed king of terror and disgust.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Transforming December 31st
I fail to understand the magnitude of this calendar day though the world appears to be energized and glorified in spite of being a working day. Are they waiting for another year which will make no much divergence or are they waiting for the dreaded year to terminate? The query still dangles bold and untamed but none could give me a pleasing response. In reality I don’t recognize why people are so hyped up on this day. I can understand if Sir Anthony Hopkins or Nicholas Sparks (an American Author) were rapturous with the last day of the year because they are blessed to be born on that date. They sure would be in high spirits with the proceedings around the world celebrating their birthday in such a great degree.
The tooting of automobiles at New Years Eve truly never thrilled me to any level. The universal language that everybody recognize from a honk is “get out of ma way”. Reasonably confusing though, but the men on wheels never tend to know this and honk their way to magnificence, trying to formulate public what they intend to articulate. Is it Happy New Year or some filth from all the alcoholics that hit the roads on this day, honking as the clock strikes midnight? It goes on like a Mexican wave and can be heard for miles, a true sign of alcoholic pleasure. Wish these fanatics know where they are heading to as though there seems to be no tomorrow. It would be a splendid initiative to have the 31st December renamed from New Years Eve to a more apt world alcoholic day for the amount of ethanol based beverages sold in robust quantity.
We tend to forget the millions who live in a precarious and expelled livelihood famished for a one time meal and these millions don’t discern whether it’s a new dawn for starvation. It’s just another day for them when the world is on its toes spending prolifically on alcohol, concerts and fireworks while dancing their way to contentment. Why do the blessed disregard the distressed and the deprived? If a few good men would have prudently thought of the poor, the mammoth amount could have been donated to these humans who still think they are the children of god, but blessed with jaundiced eye. The privileged have all the comfort and the destitute have minimal. Disappeared is the speech of a twelve year old Canadian girl named Severn Cullis Suzuki who silenced the world for 5 minutes in 1992 on a speech given at a U.N assembly in Brazil. This is the actual extract of her speech which was given a standing ovation and left some of the delegates crying.
The hole in the ozone layer, pollution, the devastation of the forests and extinction of so many species, we adults have no idea how to fix these things, in fact can’t fix them, and that we must change our ways. “If you don’t know how to fix it, stop breaking it,” “I am here to speak for all generations to come. I am here to speak on behalf of starving children around the world whose cries go unheard. I’m only a child and I don’t have the solutions…but neither do you. I am only a child, but I know we are all part of a family five billion strong; in fact, 30 million species strong, and borders and governments will never change that. Even when we have more than enough, we are afraid to share. We are afraid to let go of some of our wealth. Two days ago here in Brazil, we were shocked when we spent some time with children living in the streets. This is what one child told us: ‘I wish I was rich. And if I were, I would give all the street children food, clothes, medicine, shelter, love and affection. ‘If a child on the streets who has nothing is willing to share – why are we, who have everything, still so greedy'? I am only a child, but I know if all the money spent on war was spent on finding environmental answers, ending poverty, and finding treaties – what a wonderful place this world would be.
Let us all forget the past and the predecessors in the form of Secretary Generals of the United Nations. Wake up Mr. Ban Ki-moon the incumbent Secretary General and rewrite history, wipe off this 31st Dec ritual and turn the day to relish and appreciate that we all did something for a cause. All of us should weigh down from being skeptical and let the imminent generations come across this day as a day for the poor and allow them to celebrate the first day of the Gregorian calendar with satisfaction.
I am not a saint either because I too had the privilege to celebrate a birthday on 31st Dec 2007 but not exactly when the world commemorates but a day before, the date on my timepiece did read as 31st Dec. For the readers to comprehend, I would say it was 30th night and seconds ticking towards the 31st though was a very special and cherished moment of my life. Never know if it will return and even if it does, I would abstain from rejoicing on this day for the betterment of civilization.
The tooting of automobiles at New Years Eve truly never thrilled me to any level. The universal language that everybody recognize from a honk is “get out of ma way”. Reasonably confusing though, but the men on wheels never tend to know this and honk their way to magnificence, trying to formulate public what they intend to articulate. Is it Happy New Year or some filth from all the alcoholics that hit the roads on this day, honking as the clock strikes midnight? It goes on like a Mexican wave and can be heard for miles, a true sign of alcoholic pleasure. Wish these fanatics know where they are heading to as though there seems to be no tomorrow. It would be a splendid initiative to have the 31st December renamed from New Years Eve to a more apt world alcoholic day for the amount of ethanol based beverages sold in robust quantity.
We tend to forget the millions who live in a precarious and expelled livelihood famished for a one time meal and these millions don’t discern whether it’s a new dawn for starvation. It’s just another day for them when the world is on its toes spending prolifically on alcohol, concerts and fireworks while dancing their way to contentment. Why do the blessed disregard the distressed and the deprived? If a few good men would have prudently thought of the poor, the mammoth amount could have been donated to these humans who still think they are the children of god, but blessed with jaundiced eye. The privileged have all the comfort and the destitute have minimal. Disappeared is the speech of a twelve year old Canadian girl named Severn Cullis Suzuki who silenced the world for 5 minutes in 1992 on a speech given at a U.N assembly in Brazil. This is the actual extract of her speech which was given a standing ovation and left some of the delegates crying.
The hole in the ozone layer, pollution, the devastation of the forests and extinction of so many species, we adults have no idea how to fix these things, in fact can’t fix them, and that we must change our ways. “If you don’t know how to fix it, stop breaking it,” “I am here to speak for all generations to come. I am here to speak on behalf of starving children around the world whose cries go unheard. I’m only a child and I don’t have the solutions…but neither do you. I am only a child, but I know we are all part of a family five billion strong; in fact, 30 million species strong, and borders and governments will never change that. Even when we have more than enough, we are afraid to share. We are afraid to let go of some of our wealth. Two days ago here in Brazil, we were shocked when we spent some time with children living in the streets. This is what one child told us: ‘I wish I was rich. And if I were, I would give all the street children food, clothes, medicine, shelter, love and affection. ‘If a child on the streets who has nothing is willing to share – why are we, who have everything, still so greedy'? I am only a child, but I know if all the money spent on war was spent on finding environmental answers, ending poverty, and finding treaties – what a wonderful place this world would be.
Let us all forget the past and the predecessors in the form of Secretary Generals of the United Nations. Wake up Mr. Ban Ki-moon the incumbent Secretary General and rewrite history, wipe off this 31st Dec ritual and turn the day to relish and appreciate that we all did something for a cause. All of us should weigh down from being skeptical and let the imminent generations come across this day as a day for the poor and allow them to celebrate the first day of the Gregorian calendar with satisfaction.
I am not a saint either because I too had the privilege to celebrate a birthday on 31st Dec 2007 but not exactly when the world commemorates but a day before, the date on my timepiece did read as 31st Dec. For the readers to comprehend, I would say it was 30th night and seconds ticking towards the 31st though was a very special and cherished moment of my life. Never know if it will return and even if it does, I would abstain from rejoicing on this day for the betterment of civilization.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Throbbing Perseverance
Noah sat by the lane and thought of a durable title currently relishing. Sarcasm, odium and antagonism filled in him though he looked at life with a special perception. He wanted to think positive and move forward into this modest world of mankind. He couldn’t stop viewing the new-fangled faces that appear transversely and met many dicks and pricks with immense enthusiasm though a little abnormally habitual. Like an itinerant traveler he marked his attendance in many populated Indian cities, many of which he only could comprehend from the Indian history text books during his school days. His flawless elegance with the language shipped in by the East India Company gave an upper hand and projected him as a very erudite person among the people he came across. Noah altered his resolute prototype life style to control the contemporary circumstance. He considered Vege meal as Haram (an Arabic word meaning forbidden) and always dwelled on fish and meat all through his yester years, selection scarcity and a fully digested wallet forced him to munch the self tagged haram… Is he turning into a Vegan?
Noah the wanderer, lacking a permanent address reached a small village in Madhya Pradesh and decided to spend few days in the village where the Pandava’s (Hindu Myth historical figures from Mahabharata) claims to have spent some time. Noah thought for a while, expressed gratitude to some lame soul for being in his own country and for knowing how to converse in the national language Hindi, though not so fluent. Noah spoke a mix of Urdu and Hindi, something he picked up from his school days in the Gulf, where there was a mix of Pakistanis, Indians and a few other nationals. Though the mumbling flow of Hindi made people laugh but had an answer for all the petite questions and would travel kilometers to cyber only to return with a response. He walked around the village looking for something like a hotel to lodge himself, his sight could not pick anything that looked like a lodging area other than a bunch of shops with a brown cardboard piece hung in the entrance with write ups on it which read ‘ramus grosscerry’, ‘teas and phorn’ ‘vikus sabji’ and ‘billus press’. Noah walked towards one of the shop to query about a possible place to stay. He was escorted to the sarpanch’s (village head’s) house and that was the only place where he could stay for Rs.100 per day including dinner. Noah was pleased at the same time surprised from the dinner part. The common practice of any hotel would have been a stay with complimentary breakfast. Noah immediately agreed and was escorted to a big courtyard which had a house in the center and six huts bordering the boundary walls, which looked moreover like a staff station.
The room though had no class but was neatly maintained with a cot made of coir and a pillow. Within minutes Noah had this feeling of someone trying to bake him alive, due to the immense heat inside the room. His escort cultured him to drag the bed outside during the day times as it will be cooler outside under the shade of a tree just outside the room and if preferred had the privilege to slumber outside provided he belonged to the crepuscular family who ruled the area during twilight and bright moonlit night in the form of jackals. Not wanting to take chances until he gets his crepuscular ID card decided to get himself baked. Noah was shown a hand drawn water well where he could freshen up and was advised not to use the water well between 5 am to 7 am, a time when it would be used by the ladies of the Sarpanch family. The surpanch though unqualified was a refined man because he had a privileged restroom which was appropriately maintained for the guest.
The lone place where Noah could eat was at the tea and phorn outlet which again belonged to the surpanch and would be open from 7am to 6pm, the only place in the village where a phone (in the form of phorn) was available apart from the sarpanch’s domicile. The accessibility to the phone never amused him at any point because he had none to call though was glad to know what ‘phorn’ was. The working hours of tea and phorn outlet solved Noah’s concern as to why dinner was complimentary with the stay. Noah walked into billu press with the intention to eradicate time by flipping pages of some Hindi film magazine but was traumatized on entering the shop to find it a place to iron your cloths. Billu was right in his own way and Noah wouldn’t have been in the state of trauma only if he knew the synonyms of the word “PRESS”. Apart from a remote range of mountains in a distance there was nothing to venture still Noah decided to take a stroll in the village.
A little job was on offer by the sarpanch and Noah decided to take it up. Noah’s magnetism was colossal to aid his food and lodging to be taken care by the sarpanch. His hunger started to perish and his wallet got a feeling of contentment by teaching the village kids the imported language. His gush for the foreign language was immaculate that he soon became a protagonist among the neighboring villagers. Noah’s nomadic life style increased his endurance and the resilience for determination. He made his little funds from the village though had no plans to inhabit there. Noah never made friends for the fact that none could feel his howl. Psychotherapy is the most easy article one can provided and Noah was a victim of it though never complained. Noah retaliated when he was answerable to these psychiatrists, he never sought someone to emphasize his mistakes, and he agrees that he is at fault and the intensity being so high that correction is irrelevant.
Noah will live until he is endurable, the world will know he’s corroded when his write ups perish.
Noah the wanderer, lacking a permanent address reached a small village in Madhya Pradesh and decided to spend few days in the village where the Pandava’s (Hindu Myth historical figures from Mahabharata) claims to have spent some time. Noah thought for a while, expressed gratitude to some lame soul for being in his own country and for knowing how to converse in the national language Hindi, though not so fluent. Noah spoke a mix of Urdu and Hindi, something he picked up from his school days in the Gulf, where there was a mix of Pakistanis, Indians and a few other nationals. Though the mumbling flow of Hindi made people laugh but had an answer for all the petite questions and would travel kilometers to cyber only to return with a response. He walked around the village looking for something like a hotel to lodge himself, his sight could not pick anything that looked like a lodging area other than a bunch of shops with a brown cardboard piece hung in the entrance with write ups on it which read ‘ramus grosscerry’, ‘teas and phorn’ ‘vikus sabji’ and ‘billus press’. Noah walked towards one of the shop to query about a possible place to stay. He was escorted to the sarpanch’s (village head’s) house and that was the only place where he could stay for Rs.100 per day including dinner. Noah was pleased at the same time surprised from the dinner part. The common practice of any hotel would have been a stay with complimentary breakfast. Noah immediately agreed and was escorted to a big courtyard which had a house in the center and six huts bordering the boundary walls, which looked moreover like a staff station.
The room though had no class but was neatly maintained with a cot made of coir and a pillow. Within minutes Noah had this feeling of someone trying to bake him alive, due to the immense heat inside the room. His escort cultured him to drag the bed outside during the day times as it will be cooler outside under the shade of a tree just outside the room and if preferred had the privilege to slumber outside provided he belonged to the crepuscular family who ruled the area during twilight and bright moonlit night in the form of jackals. Not wanting to take chances until he gets his crepuscular ID card decided to get himself baked. Noah was shown a hand drawn water well where he could freshen up and was advised not to use the water well between 5 am to 7 am, a time when it would be used by the ladies of the Sarpanch family. The surpanch though unqualified was a refined man because he had a privileged restroom which was appropriately maintained for the guest.
The lone place where Noah could eat was at the tea and phorn outlet which again belonged to the surpanch and would be open from 7am to 6pm, the only place in the village where a phone (in the form of phorn) was available apart from the sarpanch’s domicile. The accessibility to the phone never amused him at any point because he had none to call though was glad to know what ‘phorn’ was. The working hours of tea and phorn outlet solved Noah’s concern as to why dinner was complimentary with the stay. Noah walked into billu press with the intention to eradicate time by flipping pages of some Hindi film magazine but was traumatized on entering the shop to find it a place to iron your cloths. Billu was right in his own way and Noah wouldn’t have been in the state of trauma only if he knew the synonyms of the word “PRESS”. Apart from a remote range of mountains in a distance there was nothing to venture still Noah decided to take a stroll in the village.
A little job was on offer by the sarpanch and Noah decided to take it up. Noah’s magnetism was colossal to aid his food and lodging to be taken care by the sarpanch. His hunger started to perish and his wallet got a feeling of contentment by teaching the village kids the imported language. His gush for the foreign language was immaculate that he soon became a protagonist among the neighboring villagers. Noah’s nomadic life style increased his endurance and the resilience for determination. He made his little funds from the village though had no plans to inhabit there. Noah never made friends for the fact that none could feel his howl. Psychotherapy is the most easy article one can provided and Noah was a victim of it though never complained. Noah retaliated when he was answerable to these psychiatrists, he never sought someone to emphasize his mistakes, and he agrees that he is at fault and the intensity being so high that correction is irrelevant.
Noah will live until he is endurable, the world will know he’s corroded when his write ups perish.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The Little Boy Inspired By a Monk
I don’t remember exactly when I saw him for the first time. I know that I was of an age where I could identify and remember him as a Monk. He preferred to come home with my dad and few very well known faces in the form of my dad’s colleagues and relatives who would pace into the rented flat where I lived with parents. He was appealingly petite and bubbly in contrast to his counterparts and was one of the main reasons why I liked him. I knew that he was a monk but was not permitted to touch him or even take his name. What surprised me was that nobody called him by any name. His fragrance use to fill the atmosphere and I used to feel good about it. I liked his presence in my house because whenever he was around nobody asked me to study. My mom used to be busy in the kitchen whenever he was around though he never ate or drank anything, but I always remained astounded as to why everyone respected him. The most shocking incident the hurt my dad and his company on an occasion when he tripped and fell, everyone in my house was upset and silence sealed my flat. I wondered what was wrong. My dad’s company bid adieus and walked out of my house.
I heard the tinkling of the keys on my door and knew that was my dad returning from work, in anxiety I rushed to the main door hoping to see the monk with my dad, but he was not there. Thought he would walk in after a while with one of my dad’s friends but this time around he never did. I was devastated and upset. I controlled my emotions and cursed him for not coming home though he never spoke to me. In spite of a curfew over me not to speak about the monk to anyone anywhere, I still wanted to ask my mom as to where he was. Refrained myself due to the fear of being spanked. Tantrum started to rule me when I saw my mom serving dinner and started to sob not answering to any of my mom’s queries. Coffined in the kitchen I allowed my tantrum to cut loose behind the LPG cylinder, a customary spot whenever dad was around. The equalizer of my voice went out of control and heard my dad at the top of his tone “da ninakku addi venno” (do you want to be spanked). My tantrum flew off in fear and sobbing stopped as if 10 Boeing 747’s has shut down the engines. I hid behind my mom holding her sari and started to mumble ‘Daughter Who, Daughter Who’. Laughter filled in the kitchen and was told that I’ve got 15 minutes more. Daughter who- the difficulty of a little boy who grew up to pronounce it with a better accent as “DOCTOR WHO”.
Doctor who, a British Science fiction television program produced by BBC. It Portrays the adventures of a mysterious alien time traveler known as the Doctor who, who travels in his space and time ship named Tardis, which appears from the exterior to be a blue 1950 police box. He explores time and space, solving problems facing monsters and righting wrongs. The program originally was telecasted from 1963 to 1989 and is listed in the Guinness book of world records as the longest run science fiction television show in the world and is also a significant part of British popular culture, recognized for its imaginative stories. The show has become a cult television favorite around the world and many grew up watching the series. In 2006 Doctor Who received recognition from critics and the public as one of the finest British television program for best drama series from British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA Awards).
I was one of those probable little kid who for some explanation was fond of the program though cant reminisce what is was all about. The title music still reverberates in my full-blown brain. The reason for my tantrum being I never missed the show and food was always served way after the so called Daughter Who. Wondered why food so early on that particular day. Being a very bad eater in my childhood my mom still managed to thrust in my share of food. I never really fashioned any nature of nuisance when dad was around, though a very amiable human being he still was a scare for me in his on way. We all reclined to bed after dinner and the monk was a matter of anxiety in me for his nonappearance that calendar day.
My parents never had lunch the following day though I had my share of rice and meen arry (Fish Curry), as a kid pronouncing ‘ca’ was an intricate mission, so the curry was always aary. The evening was unusual compared to the normal days. The dinning table was packed with lots of eatables like, variety of fruit and fried stuff among them one was my all time favorite pazham porri (Fried Banana). Sort of feasted on it and never bothered to enquiry about this untimely meal. I was more inquisitive about the missing monk and could stand no more with regards to his absence. I was determined to fling out the subject about the monk to my mom in the most hushed approach. A motherly stare gave me the answer to my innocent query and though not content I masked from the potential battle field. My folks skipping the lunch and the untimely meal continued for days and weeks. The little kid was happy as he could gorge on his pazham porri every evening.
It’s been an elongated time since I have seen my dad’s group and the monk. Gradually the little boy started to forget them and rolled on with his usual tantrum and tomfoolery. Then came this day when I was woken up in the morning and given a shower and mom clad me up in a new pair of innovative outfit. I was feeling cheerful for the reason that I thought we all were going someplace. Leave alone going out but there was this intermittent bustling of the door bell and the forgotten faces started reappearing one by one and finally the monk arrived with a group giving a lovely smile on everyone. That smile from the group of people at home gave me assurance that it was not me alone who missed him. The monk obviously had a higher reputation among his counterpart, majority crowded around him except for a few relatives and my father, this act of my father turned out as a shock to me. Gained bravery and walked up to dad to ask him why he was being so indifferent and unconcerned with the monk. Laughter filled in my room and multiplied all over the flat, I was kissed by all the people who were around the monk. My dad silently left the group and joined the monk bring a symptom of contentment in the little boy. As I grew older I realized that the skipping of lunch was during the fasting month subsequently followed by Easter
I grew up into an adult with a behavior, a character and a personality of my own. The monk still lives on as young as he was when I saw him for the first time. Strange that he never changed and never grew, remains as charming as he was, preserving and enjoying his celebrity status. I started to touch him and succeeded to drag him into my friend circle. I realized that he is a source of love. He gets the strangest of people a sense of togetherness and sometimes plays his little behavior of revulsion among the group but returns to retain love among the abhorrence. He is a magician who appears at different places at the same time for them who love him not caring if one is alone or in a group. He makes himself present when you are depressed or blissful.
His first name is Old and with a last name Monk. He is OLD MONK vatted Indian rum, blended and aged for 7 years though there is also more expensive 12 year old version. It is dark with an alcohol content of 42.8%. It is produced by Mohan Maekin Brewery, based in Mohan Nagar, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. It is available in all parts of India and is the third largest selling rum in the world. OLD MONK has been the biggest Indian Made Foreign Liquor (IMFL) brand for many years. It is sold in four variants quarter (180ml), half (350ml), commonly referred full (750ml) and a 1 liter bottle. OLD MONK is so widely used among people of all ages that suppliers find it difficult to meet demand.
Long Live Alcoholism and Long Live OLD MONK
I heard the tinkling of the keys on my door and knew that was my dad returning from work, in anxiety I rushed to the main door hoping to see the monk with my dad, but he was not there. Thought he would walk in after a while with one of my dad’s friends but this time around he never did. I was devastated and upset. I controlled my emotions and cursed him for not coming home though he never spoke to me. In spite of a curfew over me not to speak about the monk to anyone anywhere, I still wanted to ask my mom as to where he was. Refrained myself due to the fear of being spanked. Tantrum started to rule me when I saw my mom serving dinner and started to sob not answering to any of my mom’s queries. Coffined in the kitchen I allowed my tantrum to cut loose behind the LPG cylinder, a customary spot whenever dad was around. The equalizer of my voice went out of control and heard my dad at the top of his tone “da ninakku addi venno” (do you want to be spanked). My tantrum flew off in fear and sobbing stopped as if 10 Boeing 747’s has shut down the engines. I hid behind my mom holding her sari and started to mumble ‘Daughter Who, Daughter Who’. Laughter filled in the kitchen and was told that I’ve got 15 minutes more. Daughter who- the difficulty of a little boy who grew up to pronounce it with a better accent as “DOCTOR WHO”.
Doctor who, a British Science fiction television program produced by BBC. It Portrays the adventures of a mysterious alien time traveler known as the Doctor who, who travels in his space and time ship named Tardis, which appears from the exterior to be a blue 1950 police box. He explores time and space, solving problems facing monsters and righting wrongs. The program originally was telecasted from 1963 to 1989 and is listed in the Guinness book of world records as the longest run science fiction television show in the world and is also a significant part of British popular culture, recognized for its imaginative stories. The show has become a cult television favorite around the world and many grew up watching the series. In 2006 Doctor Who received recognition from critics and the public as one of the finest British television program for best drama series from British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA Awards).
I was one of those probable little kid who for some explanation was fond of the program though cant reminisce what is was all about. The title music still reverberates in my full-blown brain. The reason for my tantrum being I never missed the show and food was always served way after the so called Daughter Who. Wondered why food so early on that particular day. Being a very bad eater in my childhood my mom still managed to thrust in my share of food. I never really fashioned any nature of nuisance when dad was around, though a very amiable human being he still was a scare for me in his on way. We all reclined to bed after dinner and the monk was a matter of anxiety in me for his nonappearance that calendar day.
My parents never had lunch the following day though I had my share of rice and meen arry (Fish Curry), as a kid pronouncing ‘ca’ was an intricate mission, so the curry was always aary. The evening was unusual compared to the normal days. The dinning table was packed with lots of eatables like, variety of fruit and fried stuff among them one was my all time favorite pazham porri (Fried Banana). Sort of feasted on it and never bothered to enquiry about this untimely meal. I was more inquisitive about the missing monk and could stand no more with regards to his absence. I was determined to fling out the subject about the monk to my mom in the most hushed approach. A motherly stare gave me the answer to my innocent query and though not content I masked from the potential battle field. My folks skipping the lunch and the untimely meal continued for days and weeks. The little kid was happy as he could gorge on his pazham porri every evening.
It’s been an elongated time since I have seen my dad’s group and the monk. Gradually the little boy started to forget them and rolled on with his usual tantrum and tomfoolery. Then came this day when I was woken up in the morning and given a shower and mom clad me up in a new pair of innovative outfit. I was feeling cheerful for the reason that I thought we all were going someplace. Leave alone going out but there was this intermittent bustling of the door bell and the forgotten faces started reappearing one by one and finally the monk arrived with a group giving a lovely smile on everyone. That smile from the group of people at home gave me assurance that it was not me alone who missed him. The monk obviously had a higher reputation among his counterpart, majority crowded around him except for a few relatives and my father, this act of my father turned out as a shock to me. Gained bravery and walked up to dad to ask him why he was being so indifferent and unconcerned with the monk. Laughter filled in my room and multiplied all over the flat, I was kissed by all the people who were around the monk. My dad silently left the group and joined the monk bring a symptom of contentment in the little boy. As I grew older I realized that the skipping of lunch was during the fasting month subsequently followed by Easter
I grew up into an adult with a behavior, a character and a personality of my own. The monk still lives on as young as he was when I saw him for the first time. Strange that he never changed and never grew, remains as charming as he was, preserving and enjoying his celebrity status. I started to touch him and succeeded to drag him into my friend circle. I realized that he is a source of love. He gets the strangest of people a sense of togetherness and sometimes plays his little behavior of revulsion among the group but returns to retain love among the abhorrence. He is a magician who appears at different places at the same time for them who love him not caring if one is alone or in a group. He makes himself present when you are depressed or blissful.
His first name is Old and with a last name Monk. He is OLD MONK vatted Indian rum, blended and aged for 7 years though there is also more expensive 12 year old version. It is dark with an alcohol content of 42.8%. It is produced by Mohan Maekin Brewery, based in Mohan Nagar, Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. It is available in all parts of India and is the third largest selling rum in the world. OLD MONK has been the biggest Indian Made Foreign Liquor (IMFL) brand for many years. It is sold in four variants quarter (180ml), half (350ml), commonly referred full (750ml) and a 1 liter bottle. OLD MONK is so widely used among people of all ages that suppliers find it difficult to meet demand.
Long Live Alcoholism and Long Live OLD MONK
Thursday, June 4, 2009
My Prolonged Journey
The pin piercing chilliness time pieced down on me during my journey on Kaveri Express which runs from Chennai to Mysore during the so labeled coldness of Bangalore in the month of JAN.
From Jolarpettai (Tamilnadu) I stepped into the general compartment of Kaveri Express, in spite of Tamilnadu and Karnataka having concern over River Kaveri, the train still runs between the two states. This is the prettiness of being a sovereign Country. A Muslim sleeping with his head rested on a Hindu’s shoulder and a Christian on a Muslim’s lap. None cared to ask over what caste or creed one was from and I would call that national integration. My eyeballs ran through all the faces that I could reach and then I realized this is India, a train, a compartment with Sikhs, Hindus, Christians and Muslims etc. There I could perceive harmony.
Not knowing when I would reach Krisnarajapuram my destination, I stood beside the hundreds in that cubicle. Thoughts perforated my mind, what am I to do till I accomplish where I desire to dock. I thought of my days, my love and my kids. I speculated what they would be doing at 0130 AM, sleeping, dreaming or cursing me for what I’ve done with their potential. I was not in a position to respond to my own query, just prayed that they would all be concealed without any commotion.
Thinking lined above me and I was in form to visualize my school days. There I could see my dad, my mom, my sis and above all the one I love. My thoughts at this speck of moment were modest with my life not being so very precious. My thoughts cleared of with imagination when I heard the hundreds of cell phones beep like the horses hurtle.
I was puzzled not knowing what was happening and curiosity brushed my brains. Intrusive is not the word but I wanted to know why all the cell phones beeped. Disturbed from the beep a little girl looking 8 who woke up from her sleep asked here mom “have we reached Kuppam?” Kuppam a strange name for me and curiosity creped in again. Among the hundreds someone said, ‘entered Andhra Pradesh’. I was content by hearing that. I could distinguish all the messages that might have flashed through their cell phones (Airtel, Vodafone, Idea, Spice, BSNL etc etc... – WELCOMES YOU TO ANDHRA PRADESH). India claims to be in close proximity of being developed and a roaming facility within the country is bizarre.
In a slash moment, my awkward brain got me back to portray into my thoughts. I fancied of being intoxicated which would permit me not to indulge in views that’s throbbing. This is one of those days where empathy is over powered by intelligence wherein I dislike reckoning but, the unintelligent brain wouldn’t snoop into kindness. I left the1260 cubic centimeter of my brain to travel on its corridor. It’s all branches of the bipolar disorder that I am enduring. I prefer to reside with it coz this reaction furnishes me all the way through pleasure and pain.
Where did I go off beam? Why did hell subside in excess over me? May be she was right in refurnishing my thoughts, ‘ITS GOD PUNISHING for what I’ve done’. It’s GOD for bestowing pain to the innocent. It’s GOD who imposed an interdict over me for shelling out all the misery to guiltless heads. It’s that supernatural being who has blessed me for the predicament where I got the radiant souls into and I speculate to face it coz I’m left with no preference. I would like to have that modest fragment of nerve and unaided I want to surface from it. Emotional trauma unbolted my tear glands, Stuck in the cubicle with hundreds I was finding it thorny to conceal my mind-set. I fancied at this juncture if tears would have veiled through perspiration then man-kind would pride off as a glorious creation by almighty. I looked down on the stained floor of the compartment and recollected reading somewhere:
“Tears are the diamonds of your soul
Please don’t be ashamed of crying
Your tears come right from your heart
Don’t you know how pure they are?”
At this dot of time I never wanted to comprehend the above lines. I clogged my eyes to avoid embarrassment where a stranger may pursuit and hurl questions. If my tears claim to be uncontaminated then allow it to sponge down the soil on the stained floor of the compartment. The train slowed down and stopped. That was Kuppam, a small town in Andhra Pradesh famed for its granite quarries.
I stopped wearing a watch or carry a cell phone but now I wanted to know what time it was. I was pretty content with the unconventional voice that said “are you on your way to sign off a hundred billion dollar contract, why are you being so time conscience?” that was true to the core. Ha-ha... This impish brain is a very devious counterpart of your body coz it sure does have a superior sense of humor and it surely does know when and how to play its shenanigans*.
From Jolarpettai (Tamilnadu) I stepped into the general compartment of Kaveri Express, in spite of Tamilnadu and Karnataka having concern over River Kaveri, the train still runs between the two states. This is the prettiness of being a sovereign Country. A Muslim sleeping with his head rested on a Hindu’s shoulder and a Christian on a Muslim’s lap. None cared to ask over what caste or creed one was from and I would call that national integration. My eyeballs ran through all the faces that I could reach and then I realized this is India, a train, a compartment with Sikhs, Hindus, Christians and Muslims etc. There I could perceive harmony.
Not knowing when I would reach Krisnarajapuram my destination, I stood beside the hundreds in that cubicle. Thoughts perforated my mind, what am I to do till I accomplish where I desire to dock. I thought of my days, my love and my kids. I speculated what they would be doing at 0130 AM, sleeping, dreaming or cursing me for what I’ve done with their potential. I was not in a position to respond to my own query, just prayed that they would all be concealed without any commotion.
Thinking lined above me and I was in form to visualize my school days. There I could see my dad, my mom, my sis and above all the one I love. My thoughts at this speck of moment were modest with my life not being so very precious. My thoughts cleared of with imagination when I heard the hundreds of cell phones beep like the horses hurtle.
I was puzzled not knowing what was happening and curiosity brushed my brains. Intrusive is not the word but I wanted to know why all the cell phones beeped. Disturbed from the beep a little girl looking 8 who woke up from her sleep asked here mom “have we reached Kuppam?” Kuppam a strange name for me and curiosity creped in again. Among the hundreds someone said, ‘entered Andhra Pradesh’. I was content by hearing that. I could distinguish all the messages that might have flashed through their cell phones (Airtel, Vodafone, Idea, Spice, BSNL etc etc... – WELCOMES YOU TO ANDHRA PRADESH). India claims to be in close proximity of being developed and a roaming facility within the country is bizarre.
In a slash moment, my awkward brain got me back to portray into my thoughts. I fancied of being intoxicated which would permit me not to indulge in views that’s throbbing. This is one of those days where empathy is over powered by intelligence wherein I dislike reckoning but, the unintelligent brain wouldn’t snoop into kindness. I left the1260 cubic centimeter of my brain to travel on its corridor. It’s all branches of the bipolar disorder that I am enduring. I prefer to reside with it coz this reaction furnishes me all the way through pleasure and pain.
Where did I go off beam? Why did hell subside in excess over me? May be she was right in refurnishing my thoughts, ‘ITS GOD PUNISHING for what I’ve done’. It’s GOD for bestowing pain to the innocent. It’s GOD who imposed an interdict over me for shelling out all the misery to guiltless heads. It’s that supernatural being who has blessed me for the predicament where I got the radiant souls into and I speculate to face it coz I’m left with no preference. I would like to have that modest fragment of nerve and unaided I want to surface from it. Emotional trauma unbolted my tear glands, Stuck in the cubicle with hundreds I was finding it thorny to conceal my mind-set. I fancied at this juncture if tears would have veiled through perspiration then man-kind would pride off as a glorious creation by almighty. I looked down on the stained floor of the compartment and recollected reading somewhere:
“Tears are the diamonds of your soul
Please don’t be ashamed of crying
Your tears come right from your heart
Don’t you know how pure they are?”
At this dot of time I never wanted to comprehend the above lines. I clogged my eyes to avoid embarrassment where a stranger may pursuit and hurl questions. If my tears claim to be uncontaminated then allow it to sponge down the soil on the stained floor of the compartment. The train slowed down and stopped. That was Kuppam, a small town in Andhra Pradesh famed for its granite quarries.
I stopped wearing a watch or carry a cell phone but now I wanted to know what time it was. I was pretty content with the unconventional voice that said “are you on your way to sign off a hundred billion dollar contract, why are you being so time conscience?” that was true to the core. Ha-ha... This impish brain is a very devious counterpart of your body coz it sure does have a superior sense of humor and it surely does know when and how to play its shenanigans*.
* Harmless michievous play
Life is filled with problems and I always wondered why news papers are printed with problems like crossword, sudoku, kakuro, mindbender so on and so forth. Guess Arthur Waynne the inventor of crossword puzzle and Leonhard Euler the father of sudoku may have thought, “anyways this world is crammed with problems so let me give them some more.” I am very bad with numbers maybe that’s one of the prime explanations for all the miscalculations in my life. I am sort of fond with solving sudoku and to brush away my thoughts I tunneled into my bag and pulled out a couple of news paper and started to work over sudoku. In a few moments blundered one of the vertical columns and my little brain hymned again, “concentrate or quit, coz I have a lot of exertion for you”. I decided for the latter and firmed to call it off and pushed the newspapers back into the very place it had wombed.
My views were uncultivated and never matured at any given point of time and deliberate in anxiety of where my desires were to trek. My kids materialized before my sight, in silence with a grueling expression and it did not take me time to figure the reason of their ephemeral stare, but still considered lucky enough to visualize them right in front of me. Their innocent voice chorused out “why did you do this to us? What did we do wrong for your malodorous deeds?” I stood there in a status of distress not knowing what to do. I wanted to be repentant but I’m no toddler to do errors and blame it on oversight, thinking an imperative individual would proper my doings. I wanted to hug them and kiss them but in a flare they vanished. I acquainted my act wherein I misplaced them in the course of my life and never to glimpse them all over again. I had myself to criticize and wished to disintegrate. Gloominess hit the skies and in that frame of mind I thought this is going to capture me in a state of insanity. Being saturated and dried out, my temperature shot up. I sought a stream to guzzle down water and wished the moving train was a gushing tributary where I could submerge and satisfy my thirst. Kaveri Express screeched and halted at Maramootlu in Karnataka renamed as Bowringpet who was an officer in charge of the once prominent Kolar Gold Fields and currently recognized as Bangarapet.
My fondness towards football facilitated to tackle myself through the hundreds in the cabin to make my way through to the exit. Pretty flabbergasted to see that public traveling in the general compartment were not eligible for bare minimum comfort. The compartment was stationed 50 meters missing the platform. This could be easily perilous for the elderly people who could possibly skid and collapse off the train. I raised my concern with a commuter, a simple smile prevailed as I could see his paan stained teeth. The feared question was tossed out at me “is this the first time you are traveling in a general compartment?” a very authentic question. Conscious silence was of desirable quality at this spot and not intended to break out a conversation with the paan stained unfamiliar individual. I designed to dodge my way back to the place where I was embedded. Yes, it was my first expedition in a general compartment and that undeniably is the part and parcel of life.
The train started to roll progressing forward at an ostensible speed, the magnitude of swiftness never allowed my thoughts to stride forward. Past is past but my future lay coupled with my history, I am curious to know where I am heading to and I should intend to exert through it in intriguing approach. Day or night doesn’t really theme up coz I stand in total darkness, lost, vacant and blustered away. Scent of the air still remains untouched, since how it was on 20th June 2007 when I landed in Bangalore for a whirling summit of my life. Subsequent to that stopover everything started to transform in this peripheral world of mine. Even though missing those breathtaking moments of my life, I sunk into those dazzling reminiscence where those striking pair of eyes twinkled, the dazzling smile escalated and I started to sense her feel on me. I don’t know if my dreams are traumatized, but I still adore and cuddle my feelings as prized and precious. Misery sky scraped on me as the thoughts of her started to penetrate my skin. I couldn’t aid myself to avert the sight of her, where is she? Wish I knew but, she is an angel and I incline not to intricate on that as it will mar and brawl yet another cluster of innocent heads. I am cursed by a thousand and don’t crave to insert on that existing statistics. She went on and on and on ……. And the pain of missing her gulped me totally.
Whitefield another stopover for the train was a recognizable name famous for Brindavan the Ashram for Sathya Sai Baba and presently renowned by the entry of international IT firms like the Wipro’s, Dell’s, IBM’s and the Intel’s. I knew that I was closing in onto krisnarajapuram my long awaited destination. I badly wanted to stair out of the train even though noticeably evident that my thoughts and feelings are going to munch me up for the residue of my days. The entire images through the journey were plainly excruciating and this period undeniably will last for eternity. The clutter I dragged myself into is immense for the fact that I am sealed of in total severance, as if someone is trying to preserve me for a long long time.
I stepped out of the train, factually crawled away from the station and lit a cigarette. A lengthy drag was what I opted for and at a snail's pace started walking under the street lights of the outer ring road. I have traveled for mighty long hours during the course of my career and have never been eaten up by the so labeled ‘time’. After a stroll for an estimated 45 minutes my pace condensed, and was on the verge of being steamed out. A qualis stopped a few yards away from me, a slimy head popped out and queried something in Kannada. Ha-ha...Wish I could understand. I just informed the presumed gentleman of the small tree where I was nested. I was indicated to step into the vehicle, not knowing what all will shape up for me till I reach my nest.
This was the only moment I was not fearful of any mishaps coz I was accompanied by my newly initiated friend named Vacuum. Mr. Vacuum is strengthening out to be a new companion in the path of my life with no criticism, no pleasure, no tears, no love and no misapprehension and above all no repulsion.
I was dropped off on the main road and continued to inch forward to perch on my tree. In spite of my new found friend accompanying me, there were more creations of god to convoy me for that one kilometer walk to the nest. The furious street dogs which are pretty high-flying in this part of the world followed me howling and barking thinking that I am some rotten soul lingering around in their existence. I had no reason to panic coz I had nothing to loose and comforted myself by assuming that I do have more friends in this race to isolation. As I was closing in onto the nest, my neighbors were troubled with the perfect musical extravaganza following me in the form of dogs.
Four men walked out from their so called apartments and stopped me. The pale street light thankfully aided them to recognize the silent familiar face from their neighborhood. The reality is that I dwell in to squander the twilight with their 5 to 7 year olds playing cricket and this helped me to prevail over a potential suffering by being bundle by them. Those little ones did keep their folks notified of my absence. I was clued-up of the happenings in the locality wherein, theft, eve teasing and peeping toms thrived in the area during my short voyage to describe as ‘A little pilgrimage for triumph’. I stepped into my cushioned nest not overlooking to be apologetic for the dilemma I triggered the neighbors during the untimely cock-crow hours. Weakness was in sequence where my body and psyche could take no further, Struggled to slumber coz I never could evaluate the structure of my life that needs to scamper ahead. I wanted to end this unappetizing journey of a complicated life conjuring forward.
Now I budge around in an exceedingly populated city of my own, named “Loneliness”. I started to apprehend it now when it is excessively late. I don’t desire to weep over escaped extracts but will strive to fill it up in a different goblet but, this time will load it with Mr. Vacuum my little associate, so spilling it again is irrelevant. This emptiness was shaped up by my individual conduct. I deem not to be acquainted with any personality and I shall decline to recognize my future. I will forever be in love with her and my immaculate offspring’s
The assurance is my innovative pal will forever be with me even if I move around being insane.
Where is she?
Oh… She is around.
How is she?
I don’t know.
Where are my kids?
Hmmm… They are around.
How are they?
I don’t know.
What else am I to declare or what else can I utter????
‘Do not value whom you may have in your life, but value those you have in your life’
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